What I Need by J.Daniels #Cover reveal

From New York
Times bestselling author, J. Daniels, comes a sexy new STANDALONE
novel.

Riley Tennyson has
made a huge mistake.

At least, that’s
what she keeps telling herself.

Showing up to her
brother’s wedding pissed off and newly single, Riley seeks comfort
in solitude and an open bar, until the gorgeous and irresistibly
charming CJ Tully makes her a better offer―a wild night with the
master of smooth-talking where nothing is off limits.

Riley does what any
single woman would do, and a connection is made. One neither one of
them can ignore. But when she comes home to the boyfriend she no
longer thought she had, Riley buries her secret and begs CJ to do the
same.

Forget about each
other. It was a mistake. That’s all it was… right?

Desires are hidden.
Distance is kept. Until one night CJ makes the ultimate sacrifice,
and Riley can no longer avoid the man she can’t stop thinking
about.

J.
Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the
Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the Dirty
Deeds series.

She
would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud,
and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband
and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a
close second.

He
looks around the venue and gestures. “Packed joint tonight.
Shouldn’t get too crazy with this band and the crowd it’s
bringing out, but we never wanna risk it. It’s good having backup.”

“How
many of us you got?” I ask him over the music when the band starts
playing, leaning closer to hear his response.

“You
and another guy who’s already here. He’s hanging out up by the
stage. Plus a bunch of our guys.” He hooks his thumb at the floor
to ceiling windows along the front of the building, adding, “I got
some uniforms on the street keeping that shit under control in case
people get tossed out.”

I
nod, liking what I’m hearing.

The
Red Door isn’t the biggest venue I’ve worked security on, but
it’s big enough. Managing this shit alone can present a challenge.
And by the looks of it, it’s a sold out show.

More
eyes we got on the crowd, the better.

“You
run into any problems yet?” I ask.

The
guy shakes his head. “Nah. Just normal shit. People trying to sneak
in their own booze,” he replies, glancing at the door where
everyone is filing in. “Confiscated it. No issues. Everything else
seems to be running smooth.”

“Good,”
I say when I meet his eyes. “I’ll keep near the back since the
other guy’s covering the front. I’ll come to you if I run into
any problems.”

“Sounds
good, man.”

We
exchange another hand shake, then I step away and move through the
crowd.

I
stop near the center of the room and stay to the back like I said so
I can have full view of the floor that’s packed with bodies, some
keeping position and others moving away from me, pushing to get
closer to the stage.

Bringing
my arms across my chest, I stand tall and do a sweep of the place.
I’ve been here before so I know the layout.

There’s
a bar to the right of where I’m standing, stretching the length of
the wall. Restrooms are behind me. Other than the hallway leading to
the rooms behind the stage where bands hang out, there’s isn’t
much that isn’t visible. Plus, it’s one level, standing room
only, so I don’t gotta worry about another floor I need to cover.

Should
be an easy gig.

I
do shit like this on the side for the extra cash. Venues hosting
concerts are always looking for cops who are willing to come out and
beef up security. We stay in civilian clothes so we blend in, and
unless I’m having to act on something, I typically get out without
anyone knowing I’m a cop.

Easy
money. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.

I
look back to the dance floor.

The
lights are dimmed. Red and blue strobe lights positioned on the
ceiling illuminate the crowd, along with the bright, white lights
shining from the stage. Visibility is good.

Another
plus. I worked a few of these where it wasn’t and that only
presented problems.

But
here, I can see faces. Can see other shit going on too if someone’s
dumb enough to try something too.

I
anticipate it. Events like this always bring out some of the
stupidest motherfuckers. Which is exactly why they like having us
work these things.

Security
can only do so much.

I’m
three songs into the set when the beat picks up. The bass vibrates
along the floor. I feel it pulsing in my feet.

The
faster rhythm stirs the crowd and shifts them around. More bodies
gather and move closer to the stage, jumping up with their fists in
the air and belting out lyrics, drawing people away from the bar.
Others stay toward the back where there’s room to dance.

That’s
where I’m looking, and that’s where I see her.

Blonde.

I
blink. My eyes refocus. Then I stare at waves the color of sand
flowing down the back of a tiny thing swaying to the music.

Shirt
tied off at the waist. Lower back showing. Hips shaking in some tight
as shit black jeans. Ass looking fucking incredible.

Damn.

She
reaches above her, bends her elbows and rakes her fingers through her
hair, lifting it off her neck as her body keeps moving in ways I feel
straight in my cock, then after letting her arms drop, she looks
toward the bar with eyes searching, giving me full view of her
profile.

My
chest grows motherfucking tight.

I
blink again, thinking I’m seeing things.

Riley
Tennyson wets her lips.

Fuck.

I’m
not seeing things.

Jesus
Christ. This is just what I need.

Working
this shit, needing to stay focused and eyes alert to all bodies in
this room and now I know for damn sure that’s not gonna be
happening, meaning this gig just went from easy to really fucking
complicated.

There’s
only one body I’m interested in keeping eyes on and it’s the one
making my dick hard.

Motherfucker.

Riley
Tennyson is gonna fucking kill me.

I
pull in a deep breath, watching that sweet face get ripped out of
view when Riley looks toward the stage again.

She
keeps dancing. Keeps shaking that perfect ass and swaying those
perfect hips, fingers curling in and lifting those long waves again,
also perfect.

Every
part of her. Every fucking inch.

Perfection.

And
I’m not even considering what she’s got going on in the front.
Shouldn’t even be considering it—we’re friends, she’s taken,
and I’m not a fucking asshole—but that didn’t stop me all day
when I couldn’t keep those spectacular tits off my mind, even going
a step further into crazy when I shared that with her through a text.

I
need to quit now. Stop this shit.

I
can avoid it. I got options.

Switch
with the guy hanging up by the stage, hoping Riley keeps her
location. Or fuck it. Just pull out of this gig all together. Make up
some excuse. I don’t need the cash.

I
don’t need to be staring.

I
sure as fuck don’t need to be getting hard right now.

I
got options. Just need to pick one.

Simple.

Yeah…

Real
fucking simple.

I
breathe in deep again, letting it out slowly. And I do this staring
at her.

Only
at her.

And
the more staring I do the more I start to notice, like how she seems
to be out there dancing alone, not with another person or a group of
friends she came with. People around her are keeping to themselves or
appearing to be together, throwing their arms around each other or
sharing looks. Acting friendly. Just not with her.

Riley
isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. She’s not trying to talk to
anyone. She’s in her own little world.

Instead
of charging through the crowd which, no lie, is exactly what I want
to be doing right now, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and
pull out my phone. I shoot out a quick text.

Me:
Tell me he’s here.

Lifting
my eyes, I watch as Riley pauses mid ass-shake, slaps her back
pocket, tugs out her phone and brings it in front of her. Her head
tilts down, then a second later it’s lifting and she’s searching
all around where she’s standing, peering around people and standing
taller. She finds me when she finally twists around, head first and
then body following.

Her
lips part. Her blue eyes go round, flames burning me up like they
always do.

Riley
starts moving my way and my eyes lower, first to her mouth, watching
the slow smile twist across it and take shape.

She
looks happy to see me. I shouldn’t put stock into that but I do.
It’s what I want.

Then
my eyes keep dropping and I get full view of her tits. Her full,
heavy, perfect fucking tits. Sitting high behind her tight white
shirt and bouncing with her steps.

Jesus
Christ.

My
new friend has tits like that. And by the looks of it, she didn’t
bother putting on a bra either.

What
the fuck did I do in a previous life to deserve this kind of torture?

“Hey.
I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Riley says all sweet
sounding when she reaches me, stopping close and offering me a smile.
Sweat gathers on her brow and in the hollow dip in her throat. She
shoves her phone away and questions, “Why are you standing all the
way back here? Don’t you wanna get closer so you can see the band?”

“Working,”
I tell her, lifting my eyes before I punch a hole through my jeans. I
tuck my phone into my back pocket, adding, “Trust me. I can see
plenty from where I’m standing.”

I
got what she said, but I can barely hear her over the music. I don’t
like that.

I
want to hear her.

“Come
on.” Grabbing her elbow, I pull Riley with me to the back corner of
the room, stopping beside the hallway that leads to the restrooms and
crowding the wall.

It’s
as far from the speakers as I can get her unless I take her outside,
and I’m not sure I want to do that.

Only
`cause I know I’ll want to leave with her. Meaning
I absolutely want
to do that.

Shoulder
pressing to the wall, I release her elbow after tugging Riley close.
I pull my arms across my chest. “Not typically something I wanna
advertise when I’m staying undercover,” I say in response to her
observation.

“Oh.”
She looks up at me, smiling and lifting her shoulders with a jerk.
“Cool,” she says.

I
can see Riley better where we’re standing now. The hallway light is
shining on her, making her skin glow.

I
look her over.

She
wearing more makeup than I’ve ever seen her in. Black lines her
eyes and her lashes are darker. Thicker too.

I
like that.

Her
cheeks are flushed from the dancing she was doing. That combined with
the whatever she’s got on her face is hiding her freckles from me.

I
don’t like that. But I don’t tell Riley. I keep looking.

Red
lips, full and shiny. Cock sucking lips. I know that from experience.

I
don’t smile. Not even when she amps hers up and gives it to me,
pairing it with another soft giggle.

I
get straight to the point with her because getting off point with
Riley is gonna lead to this shit getting even more complicated, and
fuck, I’ve looked enough tonight to run the risk of major fucking
complications.

I
look down and watch her black painted fingers wrap around and curl
under. I feel them squeeze.

Our
eyes lock.

“Tell
me,” she pleads, looking close to begging for this.

My
blood starts running hot. Scorching. Hot.

Fuck
it.

I’m
getting up in her shit.

“I’m
here because I’m working for extra cash, not because I’m digging
the music,” I share, staring into her eyes and seeing hers staring
back, like what I’m revealing is something she needs to hear, not
just something she’s curious about. “Don’t hate it. I listen to
stuff like this on occasion but it ain’t something I’d pay money
to see. That being said, my woman wants to come to a show like this,
crowd this size, booze flowing, other shit possibly going on, she
ain’t coming alone. No discussion needed. I could hate this music
to the point it makes my fucking ears bleed and I’m still going
with her.”

“Why?”
Riley asks. “To protect her?”

“That.”
I jerk my chin. “And `cause she’s mine and a real man can deal
with shitty music for a few hours if it means putting in time with
his woman.”

Riley
drags her teeth along her bottom lip. Her chest starts working
harder, moving stricter with her breaths.

I
should stop now. The way she’s looking at me…

I
should stop.

I
don’t.

“Saw
you dancing and thought you were here alone,” I add, smirking.
“Already hate that motherfucker for what he gets to touch every
night. I thought I was gonna have to kill him.”